Firefly
by Firegirlchi
Summary: First-try fanfiction: "Just itching for a fight are you big guy." I smiled up at him, blood boiling. Somewhere behind me I vaguely registered car doors closing, the crowd silencing, sure footsteps and calming voices. It didn't matter. "You're not the only one"
1. Chapter 1

So, this is my first fanfiction. Also the first time I've seriously tried to write anything.

It will eventually be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

All constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

* * *

Here we are, back on the road again. Going way too fast in yet another curve. Thank God the morning traffic haven't started yet. The flashing lights of yet another police car burning through the windows. I turn my head away as another light pole comes just a little too close. The seconds ticking away.

_It's too early for this._

"You think we'll make it in time?"

The man to my left huffs. "We better, I don't have time for paperwork". I grin, despite the tensed situation, the image of Kyle's wife throwing saucepans around her clear in my mind. "She's still mad about that anniversary thing? Your wife sure is a terrifying woman."

Another huff as Kyle takes another corner with just centimeters to spare. "You don't get to call my Lisa a terrifying woman you maniac." His voice is sharp, but the fondness clear.

I am his favorite rookie after all.

And with just weeks left before retiring, throwing out a colleague from a speeding car would look really bad in his papers.

"There! Ah shit!" Our goal comes into view. The Prince Edward Viaduct Bridge stretched out in front of us, cars and uniforms everywhere, a perimeter already being set, and there on top of the safety rail, sits a young woman. The strong wind tearing at her clothes, dark hair whipping around her face. Dread settling like a heavy stone in my stomach as we stepped out of the car.

_Jumper._

In 2003 the number of people jumping of this bridge had reached almost 500 people a year, and since then a five meter high safety rail has been built. How this woman got on top of it was a mystery, but I guess the despairing have ways.

"Chris! Get those kids!" Turning my head I spotted a group of teenagers slipping under the barrier tape, phones held high, to get a good picture no doubt. Violently cursing I stalk through the crowd, uniforms running around like chickens without heads, most of them rookies fresh out of training, itching to prove their worth on the streets.

With all higher-ups attending some sort of priority case at the airport, leaving only a few seniors like Kyle, and Jeff from the 4th district, to oversee and organize, things were chaotic. With four, going five years I were given more and more responsibility without supervision. Some though the tight leash put on young cops were ridiculous, but sadly the expression "drunk with power" way too often applied to the new fresh-faced policemen and women.

But then again, maybe I shouldn't be talking.

Finally reaching the other end, I grabbed the nearest kid by his collar, using the momentum to swing him back against his friends sending the cursing teens sprawling to the ground.

"This is a restricted area, what the hell do you think you're doing!" The teens glared up at me from the ground, I glared back, noting the clothes they were wearing, from the expensive shoes to the ugly hat-thingies popular these days, their accessories and finally the make-up of the only girl in the group.

Rich kids. Spoiled brats, demanding respect left and right but giving none. Yes, I have a lot of prejudices. I try to be professional about it though. Most of the time.

"What do you think _you're_ doing." One of the boys, (if he could be called that, he was probably just a few years younger than me) stood to his feet, hovering over me. "This is police brutality!" His friends muttering their assent as they stood up behind him. Creating a solid wall of annoying ignorance and self-righteousness.

_Breathe._

"This is restricted area, and you running around taking pictures to show your little friends are not gonna to help that woman." Yes, not one of my most brilliant comebacks I'll admit. And I used to have a way with words…"I'll have to ask you to leave the area or you will be arrested for-"

"This is a public area you know" the girl supplied, adding fuel to the fire as the boys started to puff out their poor excuses for chests to make themselves look bigger. Intimidating…

"Yeah! Public area! We can walk across this bridge whenever we want! And if you touch us you can kiss your sorry mediocre career goodbye. So what do you say now Miss public servant!" Taking a step forward the leader of the group came to stand way too close.

How I wanted, oh how I wanted.

_Just one, just one will be enough_.

"Just itching for a fight are you big guy." I smiled up at him, blood boiling. Somewhere behind me I vaguely registered car doors closing, the crowd silencing, sure footsteps and calming voices. It didn't matter. "You're not the only one"

_If he hits first it will be self-defense._

The kid sneered, eyes gleaming, calculating his chances and obviously finding them in his favor, he closed the last distance between us in one step, fist raised high ready to strike, leaving his whole side vulnerable. Amateur.

"Do we have a problem here?" I froze, halting all movement, the fight slipping out of me while the kid, already in motion continued forward. His fist connected with my chin, the stinging sensation all too familiar as I allowed myself to move with the fall, the pavement barely grazing me. But I stayed down, looking up at the man now standing at my side. His whole body was radiating authority. Bright, sharp eyes pinning the kids on the spot, daring them to move.

I used to have eyes like that, back when I was nothing but instincts and violence. But that was when I lived on the other side.

Tuning out the man's voice as he started to _explain_ for the kids exactly what would be the consequences of their actions, I turn my head back to the scene on the bridge. The chaos is gone. The young woman is sitting outside an ambulance, an older man sitting next to her, a comforting arm over her shoulders. People dressed as the man next to me spread around the scene, taking statements, giving orders. The police were slowly leaving, civilians moving on.

Twenty minutes had passed.

I watched as two officers took the kids away, the first feelings of guilt burning in my chest. What were I doing? Picking fights with children. Albeit they started it, but I were supposed to be a voice of reason and authority. It really had been too long.

_Too long._

"Are you alright?" The sandpaper voice woke me from my musings, turning my attention back to reality. The sounds of the awakening city coming back in full force. I look up, meeting the eyes scrutinizing me. "Yes, I'm fine." It's no lie; even though my chin will bruise, I can barely feel it. "It's not the first time."

"I can tell." And he probably could, I wouldn't be surprised if this man could smell a lie. Turning his head just so, he speaks into his headset. "Spike. Get us a paramedic."

I sigh. "Really, there's no need." No one seemed to be listening though, a paramedic showed up, did a quick examination, told me what I already knew. "You will be fine, get some rest." And then I were hauled back to Kyle who were standing by our car, waiting.

Not much was said on our way back to the station. It had been a long time since I had felt so tired. And yet my whole body were itching, I couldn't wait for my shift to end.

"You did good today."

I snort. "Yeah right! One second more and I would be facing charges for violent behavior. Or whatever it's called these days."

"But you didn't." Kyle pulled the car to a stop, stretching long arms over his head. "And I'm proud of you."

Very few knew about my past, Kyle being one of them. I had felt obligated to tell him when we started to work together, as my past still often led to troubles. Still, every day after an ended shift he said those words.

_"I'm proud of you." _

Even though many often did these days, Kyle was the only one I still believed.

_"I'm proud of you." _

That night, instead of roaming the streets like I used to, _old habits die hard_, I dug up everything I could about the people I had encountered that morning. I knew who they were, _what_ they were, but had honestly never paid them much attention. By the time I went to bed the sun had already started to rise at the horizon. Three letters flashing at the front of my mind every time I closed my eyes, the excited buzz coursing through my veins making sleep impossible. A new challenge lay ahead.

A small smile grazed my lips just as the alarm went off.

_SRU_


	2. Chapter 2

I still have no idea where this is going, all I know is that my OC is a work in progress, and that she is no hero. Sometimes I think she might even turn out to be the aspiring villan of this story. We'll see.

I am very grateful to the people who read the first chapter! Thank you so much!

This will eventually (one way or another) be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

* * *

Firefly – Chapter Two

"It's about time you know." Kyle beamed at me from the other side of the table, munching down his third donut. "I thought you'd never take the bait. Kids these days are _sooo_ slow."

I stared, dumbfounded, back at him. "Bait?!"

"Yeah…I've tried to peak your interest for a year now, making sure we got the calls where they'd be. But you showed no interest whatsoever." His grin grew. "But I made it."

_The cat that got the canary._

"So, now. I've called in a few favors and you have an evaluation meeting for being accepted to training next week. I figured since you had finally decided and all and-"

"Wait! Wait…what? I _what_!? How did you-"

"You underestimate me child. I knew the moment you walked through the doors this morning. I've known you for three years after all" The man was almost bouncing up and down in his seat, so pleased with himself it was almost disturbing. "Don't you want to know how I knew? Don't you?"

"Just tell me God damn it…and sit still!"

_Three years. And if it weren't for you I'd still be picking fights with the local thugs._

Kyle settled back against the soft cushions of the couch studying my face, the mug of coffee secure in both hands.

"You're not pale-green-ish, so you didn't go drinking. No bruises, except the one from the kid, so no fighting either. The shadows under your eyes are not leftover make-up, you didn't sleep last night." He grinned at me, eyes sparkling. "I could be the new Sherlock Holmes. Do you want to know what the conclusions from my deductions are?"

I smiled, he knew me alright. "Shoot, Sherlock."

"No drinking, no fighting. So you went directly home last night, but you didn't sleep. So you were researching. And the only thing that happened yesterday that would keep you researching all night… is the SRU."

Putting his now empty mug on the table he smiled at me, the proud, fond smile of a mentor. "And the only reason for you to study the SRU is if you were thinking of applying for training. So I made some calls." He leaned forward, stealing the untouched cookie from my forgotten plate. "But you doubt that you'll even be accepted to training. That your past will catch up to you and you'll be deemed violent and unpredictable, dangerous and unfit for the job."

"Well, it's all in my files so I can't really hide it from the people who'll be judging can I." Sighing I stood, removing the now empty mugs and plates from the table. It was a really stupid idea after all. "Break's over."

"Chris!"

_Childish._

"Christina!"

_Violent_.

"The paper's in your locker, I want them on my desk so I can sign them at the end of todays shift."

_Unpredictable_.

"Who you were doesn't matter anymore. It's who you are now."

_So tired. _

"And who you'll become in time."

Finally turning, I meet the eyes of the man who'd been my mentor the last three years, his look stern. "People sleep peacefully in their beds at night because rough people stand ready to do violence on their behalf. You of all people should know that change is always possible."

_"I'm proud of you."_

"I know."

"Papers on my desk by noon. And that's the end of this discussion." His voice leaving no room for protests as he walks by. "And brush your hair."

I stare as the cafeteria door swings shut behind him.

_What?_

Dragging my fingers through my short hair I slowly walk through the corridors to the locker room. Shaking my head I open my locker and, with a surprised, very un-scary squeak I jump out of the way as tons of papers fall out over the floor. What the hell!

_"I'm proud of you." Prove that you can change._

"Copy that."


	3. Chapter 3

So, this is the third chapter of Firefly. Since I kind off rushed the second one I gave this more thought.

I also got my first review this morning. Thank you so much unknown person for your support!

It will eventually be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff.

Violence and stuff, nothing to grim I think.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

* * *

Firefly – Chapter three

_The rain is steadily pounding against the black pavement, down over my head and shoulders further smearing the blood and dirt across my face. Small cuts sting as the water slides over my skin. My knuckles, hands and arms, they ache, dislocated fingers no doubt, but there's no time for that. Shifting my weight back and forth, rolling my stiff shoulders I wait for the next strike. _

_The young man in front of me does not disappoint, unceremoniously throwing himself forward with a resounding growl, fists swinging. I dodge and counter with blows of my own. Where his are many and hard, mine are few but precise, striking nerves that soon will render him paralyzed._

_This is no life or death fight, its last man standing that wins and all I have to do is endure the heavy punches seemingly raining down over me like the freezing rain for just a few more seconds. But I'm tiring fast, sore from the fight the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that and every other night this week. Another blow hits my face, blood heavy in my mouth as I duck away from the next one, head swimming. This guy is packing quite a punch, despite his nice suit and polished shoes. He would have to burn those clothes later though. _

_I grin as I dance around him, reaching up to deal the final blow, and someone is laughing. The sound cutting through the heavy night with a raspy, wet noise._

_It's first later, as I stand over the unconscious man I realize that I'm the one laughing, the short bursts of sound forcing their way out with every gasp. Blood from my split lip and broken nose flows freely down my face, mixing with the rain in my soaked t-shirt. It fills my mouth, making me gag. I turn away, the cackling laugh still rattling my chest as I start to walk. He'll wake up soon, and by then I'm hoping to be far away. _

_It had been a good fight, and despite the injuries, at least three dislocated fingers, broken nose, battered ribs and the usual cuts and bruises I were completely exhilarated. Adrenaline rushing through my body, numbing the pain that were sure to follow in the morning. I staggered around the last corner and allowed myself to relax a bit as my apartment came into view. _

_Stupid._

_Sudden white-hot pain sears through my side as I fall to my knees, the impact sending electric flashes through my body. That'll bruise. Confused thoughts run through my head as I recalculate my injuries. I didn't break any ribs, maybe cracked one at the most. Nothing that wouldn't heal on its own if I was careful. So what caused the pain? _

_So tired. _

_In my confused state I didn't even notice the man hovering over me until he placed a foot on my shoulder. I look up, taking in the cut above his right brow, the bandages on his hands, and finally, the small tattoo just under his jawbone. Three parallel lines on full display against his pale skin._

_He applies just the slightest of pressure and I topple over, more pain cutting through my body and I finally look down. There's something sticking out from my right side, glinting in the dull light. _

_Huh. What do you know. I have a knife in my side…so this feeling must be shock then. _

_I observe the man as he leans over me and for a second I panic. He'll pull the knife out, maybe twist. Stab again. But he straightens, pleased with his work, and turns to walk away. Not one word had been said. _

_I lay there on the cold sidewalk, gasping for air as the thoughts rush through my head. I didn't know the man, hadn't fought him recently, the tattoo unfamiliar. But the tattoo, the three lines. It had to be some kind of ranking system. Probably a second in command or something. _

_So who had I pissed off, whose honor had I crushed. Whose "brother", or "sister" for that matter, had I left unconscious in an alley like the one tonight. The possibilities were endless, too many to count and I were so tired. _

_So tired, and cold, quickly going numb._

_Suddenly there are hurried footsteps, a voice barking orders, something about an ambulance and then there's warm hands cradling my head, the same voice now soft and calming. There's three figures around me, but I can't focus. There's more pain as someone presses a shirt around the knife, trying to stop the blood flow, the third standing further away. Standing by something similar to a car, a car with blue flashes. Fancy. _

_Oh, wait._

_I grin, how silly. It's a police car of course. _

_The warm voice is demanding attention, but I'd rather watch the pretty flashing lights. _

_Or maybe sleep a bit._

_The sky's clearing up. _

_Look sweetheart, stars._

_Sleeping is a bad idea though._

_Then the rain, finally stopped._

* * *

It's not a violent wake-up, there's no screaming or flailing arms. It's simply the slowly opening eyes of someone who's gotten too little sleep during a too long time. The morning light is soothing and I take deep breaths to calm my racing heart, swallowing back the nausea as I gingerly stand.

It's to no avail and I stumble to the bathroom just in time to reach the toilet.

The acid burns my throat, a painful reminder to do some grocery shopping so I can eat before going to bed. I stand, heavily leaning my weight against the wall.

_Food, yes. Brilliant idea. _

Raising my head just so, I can see myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. I'm too pale, slightly green actually, and my eyes too dark. Not to mention the rings under said eyes. Sighing I walk out to my poor excuse of a kitchen, the sight meeting me as I open the fridge is in no way uplifting, the liquor bottles just another reminder of the life I have to rid myself of to get where I want.

Walking back to the bedroom I rub my hand over my protesting stomach in a poor attempt to calm the grumbling. I stop as my fingers touch the long scar on my right side. This is not a good day for flashbacks and memories and glancing at my watch I realize that I'm already late. Five minutes later I stumble, cursing worse than a marine, out from my apartment, making a point of ignoring the corner across the street.

_This is so not a good day for proving that I'm a completely sane and mentally stable human being. _


	4. Chapter 4

It will eventually be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff. Some violence, not too grim I think.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

**Firefly – Chapter four**

"So, tell me, what would make _you _fit for the Strategic response unit. In your own words please."

The woman in front of me has a sticky-sweet voice, like she's been eating poisonous candy for breakfast. She is properly dressed in her rust-colored pencil skirt and white blouse, and she does, quite obviously, strongly disapprove of my worn and torn jeans and tank top. I can't see why. Though old and torn, my clothes are clean and I've just showered. My hair is still wet.

But she disapproves, a blind man could tell. It's radiating off her, the disgust that is.

"Well? Are you not going to answer?"

She is trying to be imposing, demanding answers, probably hoping I'll say something like "cause I like to kill people ma'am" or something equally negligent so she can throw me out and get me locked up somewhere with white walls. But she's also scared, tensed shoulders and stress lines around her eyes. Not to mention that she have placed herself close to the door, assuring a swift escape if necessary. She has probably been reading my file the whole night.

_I hope she had nightmares._

"I am physically fit for every kind of position in a SRU team, I'm great with stressful situations, know the streets of this city like the back of my hand and I have more insight in the workings of the gangs, both the new hotshots and the retired, and their hierarchy than most of the senior officers at Guns and Gangs. Not to mention that I've passed all tests with flying colors."

_Yes, I am secretly very pleased with myself, thank you very much._

I grin at her, silently enjoying the way she sits straighter in her chair, ready to bolt. I am well aware that my grin might not have been all that reassuring.

"Look, I've tried my best to be nice and civil for two whole hours now. There's no need to look as if I'm going to bite. I want out of this room just as much as you do."

If anything, it looked as if I pointing out her discomfort only made her tense up even more, and she sneers back at me.

Malice would be a very suiting word for this woman.

"Your kind should never be allowed to carry a badge!" She stands now, walking around the room, putting her big oak desk in-between us as a shield. "You are nothing but a vicious, twisted disgrace for the whole force. And if I had a word in this you would be stripped of whatever rank you lowlife have managed to get, through extortion and violence no doubt, and throw you in an isolation cell in The West!"

_Toronto West Detention Centre huh, that's a maximum security place. Should I be honored or pissed?_

I study her where she stands behind her desk, scribbling neat little notes on the papers spread over the surface. Throwing glances my way like she's analyzing my reaction, excepting me to snap. As I give her another grin she turns back to her papers looking somewhat defeated. Like she failed somewhere along the way.

_"And if I had a word in this…"_

"This was not really a psych test was it?" I lounge back in my chair as realization dawns.

"You are just here to aggravate me to see if I could keep my cool, but the decision has already been made by people higher up in the food chain, whatever you like it or not, I have already been cleared." I have a hard time believing it even as I say the words, but the look on her face only confirm my suspicions and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing out loud. "You won't last long." Her voice is just as stony as her eyes when she makes the last signature on the papers before putting them back in the file.

She straightens holding out the file for me to take as she sneers at me. "Congratulations Miss Terrano, you'll find all the information in this file along with the preliminary schedule."

I smile at her, determined to be the better person in this, or at least the polite one. "No, thank you Miss Menard." I hold out my hand, a final attempt to make peace with this woman who apparently had an acid coffee along with her poisonous candy this morning. She stares at my hand with obvious contempt before walking towards the door. Retreating. "It's Mrs. Menard."

"My apologies." She is already halfway out the door and I look down on the file in my hands. This file will give me the chance to erase some of the red lines in my old one, a second new start. I turn to the open door, Mrs. Menard is long gone and I walk through the empty corridor alone grinning like a five-year old kid with a new toy. "Mrs., huh." I snort.

_Poor bastard. _

* * *

I zigzag through the buzzing midday crowd, avoiding businessmen, shopping housewives and school skipping teenagers, cursing wildly under my breath.

On my left arm I'm balancing a paper tray with cups off steaming gasoline and a corresponding paper bag with enough sugar to knock out the blue cookie monster. Held tightly under said arm is my newly obtained file along with ten others and the sports magazine Kyle always read. On my right arm rests the evidence box for an old case that the boss wanted me to pick up, sandwiched between my shoulder and ear sits my abused phone. On the other end of the line the guys at the station demand Chinese fast food and donuts while kindly reminding me that today is my "coffee shop day" and they'd love to help but they already had their days this week and are terribly busy.

"Fuck you guys! I think someone just tried to snatch my wallet." Said wallet is resting in my back pocket and is a ridiculously easy target. My colleagues laugh and I spit out another string of curses. "Don't hang up on us Chris." The remark is meet with more hysterical laughter and for a second I seriously consider letting my phone fall to its death on the concrete.

_This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I should get a serious raise on my paycheck. And I really should buy myself a bag. _

"Guys, I don't see any 'cheap-chicken-noodles' sign anywhere, and I've walked around this block two times already. People are staring and I'm heading back right now." Ignoring the pleading whines coming through the phone I turn to cross the street and almost run head first into the man walking behind me. I manage to hold on to everything but my phone, the damned plastic device shatter like a small china doll on the asphalt and, despite my earlier consideration to slay my phone, I curse violently before looking up at the man. And up. And up…

_Holy hell…_

The man is huge, towering over my 1.59 meter frame like a double deck buss over a smart car, nothing but muscle and bone hiding under the casual jeans and shirt. Like Dwayne Johnson or Steve Austin and Vin Diesel and…and I better think of something else or I'll be standing here blushing like a school girl. "I'm sorry, didn't see you." The man kneels, picking at the broken pieces that once were my phone. I snort. "Yeah, I get that a lot." The man looks up, well, raises his head to look at me. "No sorry, I didn't mean…" His eyes fall on the badge hanging around my neck and something in his eyes changes for a second, but when he stands the smile is back in place as he looks down at me. "Well, you _are_ pretty short." He places the pieces of my phone on top of the box I'm still carrying. "You need help with that? It's a tempting offer, I'm tired and the stuff I'm carrying is nothing but trouble but something's not right.

That millisecond of a change in his eyes was enough to raise the alarms, it's said it takes one to know one and this man is a fighter, of the illegal kind. Three years ago I would have been able to sense this kind of guy walking across the street; Kyle used to call it my spider-sense, now I walked right into him and didn't even consider it.

_I've gotten rusty; man I'd love to fight you._

"No, thank you. The station's not far and the guys would never shut up about it." I smile, taking half a step back to put some distance between us as I take in all the detail that used to be the first thing I noticed, his stance, the way he carried himself, hands with numerous scars and hardened knuckles, the somewhat crooked nose and the barely distinguishable outline of a knife-west under his shirt.

_Thinking about it, I'm not wearing mine today._

The bruise under his jawbone and the… bruise under his jawbone is not a bruise.

_Maybe I need glasses_.

Now looking at it I can clearly see the three lines tattooed on his skin, the make-up concealing it smudged and fading. Staring at the mark I don't notice that I get the same onceover and the man takes a step back, brows furrowed. "I should get going then." I'm too shocked to react as the man disappears into the ever moving crowd, leaving me at the sidewalk, two blocks away from the station with a broken phone and cold coffee.

The nights dream burn in the back of my mind and I swallow. Dumping the cold coffee in a trash bin together with my phone I stack the files and the bag with cookies on top of the box, puts the SIM-card in my wallet and grabs the nearest businessman with a phone, and making sure my voice doesn't waver or leave room for discussion as I tell him to hang up, and hang up _now_.

"Police emergency Sir, you will have your phone back in a minute." The phone rings, once, twice, a whole eternity passes and my heart hammer in my chest before there's a click in the other end and Kyle's voice drifts through the phone. "This is Officer Kyle Sheely." The relief is immediate and suddenly I feel silly, nothing happened after all, everything's fine. In the background I hear the guys complain about late coffee and low blood sugar and oh how I should feel sorry for them.

_Freaking children._

"Kyle, it's me. I dropped my phone…could you come pick me up?"


	5. Chapter 5

It will eventually be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff. Some violence, not too grim I think.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

**_AN: I know that it has been a while, school, internship and writers block will do that to you. So these two chapters, (4-5) is just for those of you who are following this story. I am so grateful! I am not really sure how to continue after this chapter so it might be awhile before I can get chapter 6 up here for you, but I am working on it. Promise. _**

**_So, please enjoy._**

**Firefly – Chapter five**

Who ever thought summer training camp was a good idea should be hanged, twice.

The heat is scorching, pavement almost melting under our feet; the sun beating down on us like it's trying to set us on fire as we stumble over the finish line for the third time in a row. I stand there resting my hands against my knees to keep myself standing while most of the class collapses on the grass around me. My skin feels too tight, like my overheated blood have nowhere to go and my brain is throbbing in sync with my pounding heart. My frantic gasping for air does nothing to still the swimming of my vision and the whole damned world seems hell-bent on tripping.

A few meters away someone is having an encore of our lunch, another is curled up in fetus position, crying, and a third lies flat on the hot asphalt, unmoving even as the paramedics hurry over. We're having a real field trip here you see.

I'm breathing through my nose, forcing myself to stand straight with my arms over my head as our instructor strolls over. The Sergeant is an old military man who, after retiring from the army, has sworn the remaining of his life to work all his trainees to an early death. He is also very old-school in his methods. Like "women-should-be-standing-pregnant-in-the-kitchen-waiting-for-her-man-to-come-home" old-school. We were best friends.

He loved trying to break me, and I loved throwing it back in his face.

_A perfectly healthy and functioning relationship_.

And now standing in front of us Sergeant Morgan seemed very disappointed to find three of his beloved students still standing after his "light after-lunch jog" exercise. Hotshot navy woman Malinda Shugart with her aim for E.T.F, shy firefighter Cody Burman looking for a change and completely innocent police officer, yours truly. We were the class black sheep. Young, tough, uncontrolled and all with our own kind of love for the dark midnight streets. When we weren't trying to kill each other, we were a perfect team. And right now we were the only thing standing between the Sergeant and his long awaited weekend with his wife and grandkids. This was not appreciated.

"You three again, what do I have to do to get some peace around here?" Morgan eyed us through his well-polished glasses; he'd be damned before letting us become a dent in his spotless "no-students-standing-when-the-day-is-over" record that the class had mutually decided he was keeping after our first week. I think the sneaky bastard was secretly proud of his badass students and one of these days he would allow us to go home in one piece. One of these days. "Terrano! Shugart! Burman! Three more laps! The rest of you children hit the showers and go home! C'mon. Hustle!"

We are silently muttering curses as we stumble back out on the tracks. Malinda snorts, red ponytail bouncing around her head as she picks up speed. Her voice dry and raspy as she stage whispers over her shoulder. "I swear, one of these days I'm gonna "hit the showers" without permission just for the hell of it." Cody and I huff in agreement as we catch up, keeping an even pace throughout the first lap. "Aren't you military kids supposed to be respectful and all that shit? Yes Sir, yes Sir!" I can't help it, riling Malinda is my new hobby. She puts up a good fight and is easy to annoy, very, very easy. I don't think she likes me. Especially not in a +30 Celsius weather. "Shut it, street rat!" I grin, the exhaustion and heat forgotten in a second. "C'mon then."

We were at each other's throats as Cody jumped, speeding up to get out of the fray. "Freaking crazy ladies!"

"C'mon Cody!" I beam around a mouthful of fresh blood, pulse pounding in my ears. "Live a little."

"Six more laps children! Move it!"

_Well shit._

* * *

"Could you two try to _not _try kill each other _in front_ of the Sergeant at least once!?" Cody swore the whole way to the locker rooms, hitting us with his duffel bag whenever he wanted to particularly enforce a profanity. "You'll get _me_ suspended cause _you_ _two_ morons can't resist a fight!"

"We're sorry Cody." Malinda finally spoke, giving me a pointed glare and I did my best to look regretful before once again bursting out in laughter, holding my freshly bruised ribs. "I'm not. Got you good soldier girl!" She sneered at me, badly bruised nose almost glowing in her pale face. "One of these days, street rat!" My grin was nearly manic as I turned to her, adrenalin bubbling to the surface. "C'mon Mal, it's all in good fun."

"Don't call me that!"

_Just one more. _

"Or what? You gonna pull a rank on me?" She tried that a couple of times during our first week. My street-fighter-police-working-class presence was almost a personal insult against her high-class-military-upbringing. But on the streets the only tags that will get you anywhere are the ones carved into your skin, proof that you've done your time in bars and on dark back streets. So even though she had three years on me, was both hotheaded and strong, had served for her country and all that, in my eyes she was still a spoiled brat. And she thought me a half-witted criminal with no place in a uniform so…

We fall in a tangle of limbs through the door to the ladies locker room, cursing and spitting, fists and feet falling fast and heavy as we try to knock each other as hard as possible with as little damage as possible. It's more of a children's fight than a full out brawl but it is good enough.

_Close enough. _

As we roll of each other, panting and spitting blood on the worn tiled floor, I hear Cody walk by outside the door yelling that "we better hurry the hell up or he'll go drinking himself stupid without our sorry asses".

"Yes Sir!"

The look on Malinda's face at my wheezed snicker made the fist to my face completely worth it.

* * *

"An' then thes _morons_ tried te kill each othee agi'n an' we _all_ ad to run nin' extra laps. _Nine_!" The old man behind the bar simply nodded, pouring another round of shots of the lime green poison Cody had chosen for us tonight.

If you are going to have a drinking contest, everyone have to drink the same amount of the same thing. Right? And Cody had a terrible love for strange-colored shots, so here we were. Malinda was currently slurring very un-lady like curses about immature trainees into the tattered wood of the bar, my name especially were repeated more than once. Cody had spent the past half hour spilling his heart to the poor bartender in an uncharacteristically loud voice; he had been paired with the two crazy ladies with no self-control after all. And me, well, I was, for lack of better words, laughing my head off.

Training, bickering and drinking until you drop. All in all, a good day.

_The only thing better would be a good blood-fight._

"An' the dis _maniac _won't git drunk!" I swatted at Cody's accusing finger, still giggling as I downed another shot. "Not my fault you're a lightweight." I wasn't unaffected though, a pleasant numbness rapidly spreading out from my stomach to my fingertips, soothing better than any run of the mill painkillers ever could.

_Still in a good shape though, considering. _

"I take it you'll get these two home? Last call." The bartender, Pete according to his nametag, nodded towards my companions. "Don't think they should have more anyway." There's a weak protest from Malinda, now half asleep, while Cody chose the moment to burst out singing along with the television in the corner of the room. Deafeningly loud at that. "Yeah, I suppose I should." I grin at Pete, hefting Malinda from her chair. "They'll feel this on the training course tomorrow. Cody, c'mon!"

"Pnk _elepants_?"

"I'll buy you pink pants, let's move."

"YAY! FLU_FF_!"

_Well shit!_


	6. Chapter 6

It will eventually be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff. A bit of swearing, some violence, not too grim I think.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

**AU: Here it is, chapter six, updated yesterday. The reviews and favorites I got last time made me so happy I could hug all of you!**

**Pretty please keep them coming. Enjoy!**

Firefly – Chapter six

I grin at the camera, arms around Kyle's neck as the flash blinds me. Around us the guys from the station are goofing around, fighting over cake and coffee like the kids they are under the watchful eye of our boss. Kyle is slightly red, embarrassed and awkward, surrounded by balloons and sparkly plastic cups. "When did you get this cuddly? The only thing I've ever seen you hug is a bottle of tequila." He sounds almost offended and I laugh, scribbling down my address to get copies of the photos, one arm still over my mentor's shoulders. "I'm not cuddly. I might be temporary confused and high on sugar. But never cuddly." Kyle snorts as he leads us to the table hosting the before mentioned coffee and cake, glaring at the boss as we pass by. The boss only compliments Kyle's very sparkly, very purple party hat and his scowl deepens. "Couldn't you kids just have let me retire in peace?"

"Now what would be the point with that. C'mon, I've got something for you." I lead Kyle out to the kitchen, plate with strawberry cake in one hand and a slightly resistant mentor in the other. Lisa, dark-haired whirlwind, saucepan throwing enthusiast extraordinary and Kyle's wife since almost forty years, is waiting for us. Kyle eyed his wife before turning to me, suspicion and confusion waging war over his face. "What are you two maniacs up to?" Lisa laughs, a peculiarly infectious sound that's pulls at the corners of my lips. "Well, this maniac can't wait to get you out to the car so we can leave, and that maniac," She points at me, eyes sparkling with delight. "is about to hand over your retirement present, weren't you darling." I turn towards the older woman, a sly smirk plastered over my face.

"Well, I'm not gonna "hand it over" to you, sweetheart." Kyle, used to our antics simply scowls, waving his hands in front of our faces. "Yes, yes. Just tell me so I can go back to being annoyed over the idiots in my living room." I laugh again, fishing an envelope from my recently acquired bag. And I'll have you know that it is a very fancy army bag deluxe. Just so you know.

_With lots of room for bricks and band aids, even a bottle of antiseptic or two. Straying… _

I hand Kyle the envelope, ignoring the slight trembling of my hands and faltering of my voice. "Congratulations on your retirement Sir." The living room has grown suspiciously quiet and I'm sure the whole station is all but glued to the doorframe. Kyle eyes the envelope with obvious suspicion before slowly opening, handling it like you would an armed bomb. "It won't explode dear, just open it and stop worrying the poor girl." There's a stifled snicker from the next room and just you wait until I get my hands on the cowardly little…

"Italy?" My focus is snapped back to my mentor, pride and panic waging a quick war before I zone in on the smile gracing his features, allowing me to breath. "Yeah, Florence, Venice and Rome. Bike hiking. Your bags are packed and you're ready to go." I smile, feeling like an insecure ten-year-old waiting for some kind of approval. "Say something please." He looks like, for a second, he would like to repeat the previous question a time or two. Maybe three to be on the safe side. There's another painful moment of silence before I'm engulfed in a bone crushing hug, and I'm telling you, that a man his age should not have that kind of strength. I struggle for breath as my mind short-circuits over the fact that I'm being hugged.

People don't hug me because they want to; they try to get a fist in my face or a knife in my ribs. People just _don't_ hug me; they prefer to stay out of my way and well out of kicking range. But Kyle's not people. Kyle's my mentor, my superior officer. He is the protecting brother I never needed and a wise surrogate father over these past three years. And he has been the only constant voice of reason in my life since I became a cop.

_Shit! Am I Crying? Yeah, I think you are. Shut up!_

"Thank you, little rookie." It's a barely audible whisper, meant for my ears only as I'm lowered back to the floor. Our eyes meet and I marvel over the bright, warm smile lighting up his face as he carefully nudges my shoulder. "Shall we?" We walk out through the front door as a unit, Kyle's arm still over my shoulders with Lisa behind us, beaming from ear to ear. By the time we reach their pre-packed car I've gotten hold of myself, proudly grinning as I close the driver's door. Kyle is leaning out from the open window, regarding me with a smug smile. "You called me Sir." I stare, a mock look of revulsion plastered over my face. "I did not!" He laughs, pointing a finger at me. "You did, for the first time, and all it took was me retiring. Shame on you!"

We part like that, with laughter and bantering. I stand on the sidewalk long after the red taillights have disappeared along the road, then, with a smile on my lips I turn and walk back into the house. I'm met with a plate of cake and _very_ guilty looking colleagues. I glare. They run.

_Oh, that's not suspicious at all_.

I spend the next thirty minutes hunting down the phone containing the photo of Kyle holding me in a hug almost half a meter above ground. I do not, however, break the damned thing once I get hold of it. I sneaky send the photo to my own phone before deleting it, handing it back to its black, blue and soon to be yellow owner with an innocent smile. I _can_ be a responsible adult.

"_I'm proud of you."_

* * *

"Oi, crazy lady! Do you have a visual?" Cody's voice is uncomfortably loud in my ear as I sneak along another grimy concrete wall. Adjusting the volume of my earpiece I carefully glance around the corner, expecting anything and nothing. The room is huge, dark and filthy. And above all, empty. "All clear elephant pants, what about you?" There's a loud huff on the other end as Cody exhales as he also enters yet another empty room. "Nothing, are you sure we're in the right building?" I bite back a laugh as I move through the room, pulse hammering in my throat. It's way too quiet. And anyone who has ever seen a horror movie, knows that too quiet is never a good thing. Never _ever_! Just saying. "Considering there's three generals outside expecting us to run around guns blazin' at everything bigger than a dust bunny, I'd say damn straight we're in the right b..."

I'm cut short, the wall next to me exploding in a splatter of plastic and yellow paint. I stumble backwards, back to the safety of the empty room barely catching a glimpse of the two that's once again covering behind a wooden crate in the corridor. Malinda and Tony. "Chris! Answer God damnit!" Cody's cursing in my ear and I gulp for air. Sneaky fucking bastards! "No harm, no harm. I've got two here Co." I can hear him sneer at the nickname but his retort is cut short by the third voice in our team. "I've got visual. Four hostages in the south corner. Chris can you hold them?" I grin while Cody's frown is almost audible over the line. "We have to get her out." The third voice, also known as Tyler, sounds again. "Civilians first, and we've still got an un-located subject. Cody, how far are you?" His answer is drowned out in another splatter of yellow and my pulse stutter as I cover behind the doorframe. Lives are on the line here. Maybe not the "_civilian's_" lives, but mine. Cody's and Tyler's. Our future. We have to make it.

_And shooting Malinda in the face with blue paint would be very nice._

Through my scope I can easily spot the top of Malinda's helmet, see the movement Tony does when he stand to fire again and there it is, a perfect opening just as he raises his gun. My breath slips past my lips in a whisper as my finger ghosts over the trigger. Tony falls back in a spray of blue, cursing wildly as he ducks back behind the crate. "One down guys!"

_Two to go…_

"We've got the hostages out; Tyler took one out in the last corridor. We're coming for you crazy lady, be careful, yellow's not your color."

_Damn straight_.

"Copy that." I cast another eye back towards the crate. Tony sits, still cursing on the floor with his back against the wall, but he's out of the game and no threat. Malinda though, _she_ is a problem. And she is, _of course_, nowhere to be seen.

_Fucking freaking fantastic!_

I can almost feel the little plastic ball explode against my back as I move through the corridor, past the crate, past Tony and around the next corner. I'm met with another empty hall; skin prickling as I scan the area. There's only one door, windows six meters up the walls and a stair case leading to another floor. So up it is. "Chris, what's your twenty?" Tyler's voice is low and tense as it rasps through the earpiece. "We are running out of time." I tap lightly against my microphone, back against the railing as I work my way up. Backup would be nice, but as Tyler said, we're running out of time. "Is she close?"

Tap.

"Where are you? First floor?"

_No_.

"Second?"

Tap

"South-east?"

Tap.

_Probably_…

The second floor is covered with things perfect for hiding, desks, shelves and crates spread out in a "the floor is lava" kind of way; and _damnit_, she could be anywhere.

_And that she could be anywhere usually means that she is standing right behind you._

Tap, tap, tap.

I turn just in time to see Malinda rise up from behind an overturned desk like a revenging angel, gun raised and eyes burning. As she fires I drop to the floor, avoiding the first "bullet" but almost falling down the stairs in the process. A second shot hits the floor inches from my face and the paint sprays over my skin. I roll away, heart in my throat, gun raised only to find myself staring down the barrel of her gun. "This is it, street rat!"

_The hell it is!_

"Shugart!" Blue paint explodes against her black clothes and body armor, splatters up over her neck and cheeks. She stands frozen, stunned, staring down at me with barely contained rage. "How did y…?!" I laugh then, breath catching in my throat. "Oh I wish I did Mal, I wish I did." Tyler and Cody are moving up the stairs, guns still at the ready. "Good job Chris!" I grin. "Why thank you, but next time you're the damsel in distress." Cody laughs as he drags me to my feet while Tyler raises his hand to the receiver. "Burman, Terrano and Rivard, team two, clear."

We walk out into the evening sun as a team; for me it's a new, foreign feeling. Liberating almost. Together we stand in front of the three generals supervising our test and together we receive our verdict.

"You have successfully rescued all four hostages and neutralized three subjects within the given timeframe. You will be contacted for evaluation when there's an open spot on a SRU team. It might take years, it might be next week. Until then, keep sharp, be ready. Congratulations ladies…and gentleman. You are cleared for duty."

Tyler turns to Cody, disbelief clear in his face. "Did they just call us ladies?" Cody sighs, pulling of his helmet. "Yeah, I think they did. It happens a lot when you work with the crazy lady."

And so begins the beginning of another end.


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff. A bit of swearing, some violence, not too grim I think.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

**AN: Here it is, chapter seven. I hope that you my dear readers don't mind that it's a bit short. It is one of those chapters that have to be written to move the story forward and I had real trouble with it. Also, from this chapter and forward there might be spoilers for those of you that haven't yet seen the whole series, though I'll try to work in-between the episodes. **

**I'll also ask for a favor of you, I'd like to know what you think about my main character, do you like her, hate her? If you were to describe her personality with three words, what would you say? Whatever you think and feel about her, I want to know. The reason for this is that, as you know, I make everything up as I go and sometimes it feels like I'm losing grip of my character.**

**And chapter eight is in the making and will hopefully be up for you soon.**

**Once again, thank you so much for your support! Please enjoy. **

**Firefly – Chapter seven**

I stare in horror at the cloud of dust and debris that rises behind police cars and emergency vehicles as people stand frozen, speechless and frightened.

Around me the panicked crowd has gone completely silent, civilians and uniforms alike. There's nothing. Nothing but the explosion echoing in our heads, nothing but the dread, and but the painful knowledge that someone just died, one of us. Erased. I turn to pull the now compliant civilian away from the building, nothing but procedure in case there's another bomb. We were told there's not. I leave the woman in the waiting hands of my colleges; she's not struggling, computer and "important" papers forgotten.

And that's when I hear it, faint and distant, torn from an empty chest. I've never heard anything so raw; the sound seems to twist around my chest like a contracting cord, forcing the air from my lungs. Someone is screaming in the distance. Howling and wailing, voice breaking, shattering along with both heart and soul, it's broken and helpless because what else can be done than to tear yourself apart from inside out.

It's that sound that keeps me awake that night, echoing in my memory, twisting and turning at the back of my mind at work the next day. It's that sound that drives me back out on the streets for the first time in months and I tear through the night with the vengeance of a starving lion. Hitting, kicking and tearing my way through whatever opponent stupid enough to accept my challenge until I stumble back home with the first light of dawn. I'm perched at the edge of my bathtub, carefully dotting hydrogen peroxide over my abused and raw knuckles when the phone rings. The surprise not only makes me splash a considerate amount of the disinfecting liquid over my hands, I also lose my balance and fall into the tub hitting my already pounding head against the edge. I feel like crying, lying crumbled at the bottom of my cold tub, hands stinging, body aching and pretty little silvery spots pirouetting before my eyes. There's no adrenaline left in my system to numb the pain and I hiss and spit my way out of the tub, cursing wildly over my wasted bottle of peroxide, kicking at my bloody and pretty much ruined clothes to locate my phone. When I finally find it the damned thing is silent.

_Caller unknown. _

_Just as well, don't want to be charged with attempted murder over phone now do we._

With a shrug of sore shoulders I toss my phone back on the pile of clothes before turning back to the bathroom sink. Soap and hot water will have to do. Almost an hour later I've finally managed to patch myself up and is ready to go; knife west secure over bound ribs, bike gloves over bandaged hands and band aids over a stitched brow. And lots of makeup over lots of bruises. I'm eyeing myself in the cracked bathroom mirror, carefully assessing cheeks and jawbone, grateful my eyes are not swollen and nose not broken. The split lip will have to do. All things considered, I look good.

* * *

I'm halfway home from work when I get the call. Some high-up-the-food-chain suit, whose name I can't remember, informing me that I've been placed in SRU Team one in place of the deceased Officer Lewis Young with immediate effect. An image of dust and debris flickers in front of my eyes with the echo of the hollow scream. I force myself to shake off the feeling of dread as the man on the other end continues to tell me the specifics of my admission. This is what I wanted to hear, the call I've been waiting for months for. But God, couldn't someone just had retired or something!

_Oi, guilty consciousness, you're not listening._

"Do you understand Miss Terrano?"

_Do I understand what?_

"Yes…Sir."

_I understand someone died and I'll be taking _his_ place in _his_ team and I'm fucked, that's what I understand._

"Good. Have a nice day Miss Terrano. Good luck."

I walk the last block in a daze, terror fighting excitement and joy as I climb the creaky old stairs to my apartment. Collapsing onto my bed I wonder what happened to the promised evaluations and tryouts, pondering on if it's normal to start the very next day after the admission phone call? Do you even call it admission phone call? Am I supposed to look for traps when I just got the job I worked so hard for, the job I've wanted for almost a year? Almost a year since that day at the bridge. Have I changed?

My ribs throb as I reach for the blanket next to the bed, telling me that, no, you have not. Idiot.

_Thought so…_


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So, here it is. A bit longer than the last so hopefully it will be worth the wait. As always I'm so very grateful for your support! Please enjoy.**

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff. A bit of swearing, some violence, not too grim I think. **Also, from here on, there ****might**** be spoilers.**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

**Firefly - Chapter eight**

_I barely manage to catch myself, by grabbing a conveniently placed tree, before my face gets too friendly with the ground. _Get up, keep moving._ I continue my escape, maneuvering between trees and bushes, narrowly missing low hanging spider webs and God knows what else as the last of the daylight dies out. The sun going to sleep below the horizon. It's too quiet, no obvious persuaders. But I know they're there and probably too close for my liking. _

_The ground is soft under my feet, pulling them down, drawing my energy. My legs burning. Light now gone, replaced by a darkness more compact and suffocating than in the closet I used to hide in as a child. I stumble on, convinced that I'll fall and break my neck, or run of a cliff, until the moon finally graces me with its presence. The sharp light coming down in columns through the treetops, shadows twisting and moving as the forest comes to life. _

_Just outside the line of my vision I see eyes glowing, silhouettes too sharp to be shadows, to real to be creations of my fucked up imagination._

Shit what was that! Nothing, keep running!

_I stumble yet again and a branch hits my face, a colorful curse leaves my lips as the metallic taste of blood flows over my tongue. There's a sudden noise somewhere behind me, sharp and way to close. _Shit!_ I sprint forward before turning left; hoping I somehow can shake it off. Every breath is painful as it rasps through my throat, sweat stings my eyes and all the small cuts I didn't knew I had. Blood heavy in my mouth, for some reason it feels like I've run into a wall._

_I'm jumping over a fallen tree as a scream tears through the night, the sound catching me off guard and I freeze. It echoes and comes back from a second direction, much closer, and I take off again. _Give me a break will ya!

_I don't get more than a hundred meters before the world seems to be twisting out of control, the instinctive thought that I had, once again, stumbled, tore through my mind before the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that I was, indeed, falling. _

O hell n...

I wake up on the freezing floor next to my bed, face pressed against the floorboards, heart racing and ribs aching. Muttering under my breath with my eyes still closed I sweep blindly over the floor until my fingers make contact with a bottle of water and I slowly roll over, working my way up until I'm sitting with my back against the side if the bed. Why can't I ever have a nice dream, with shiny rainbows and unicorns…or rainclouds and pizza, I'm not picky. But my nights are often plagued by the memories I would be happier without, or nightmares with no connection to reality. Though most of the time, it's both, jumbled up like a cheesy B horror movie. People say there are prescriptions for problems like this, as if I don't have enough addictions without adding perscripted sleeping pills to the mix.

My alarm goes off ten minutes later, still muttering under my breath I climb to my feet and stumble to the bathroom for a freezing shower. The cold water succeeds with what neither nightmares or alarm could and after five minutes I march out to the kitchen fully awake and ready for the new day. As long as I don't think about what day today actually is _everything_ will be fine.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that._

_Shut up! I'm awesome and I will be fine._

_…Well, at least you have time for breakfast._

Actually I have time for a second breakfast too if I wanted, Hell, I even have the food for it. I stand for a minute or two allowing myself to simply marvel over my fridge and the somewhat decent food that have slowly been replacing my liquor over the year. I close the fridge, carefully balancing eggs and milk on one arm as I reach for the flour and maple syrup in the cupboard with a big grin. Pancakes it is. And coffee, lots of coffee.

* * *

6, 40 I walked through the doors to the SRU building ready for my first day.

I haven't been this nervous since that first day of elementary school, and thinking about it, that day ended in my first fight and three days detention.

_Let's not repeat that._

From the second I walked through the doors I felt the creeping feeling of countless eyes monitoring my every step as the walls seemed to close in to swallow me whole. So keeping my head low and a white knuckled grip on my duffel bag, I all but sprinted the last bit to the front desk. The young woman behind it looks up as I come to a halt in front of her. Her eyes narrowing in suspicion before spotting the badge hanging around my neck.

She smiles then, but it's a bit forced, she's not happy to see me, but is trying to be professional about it. We both know the reason I'm here is still too painful and I won't hold it against her. So instead I smile, though I'm sure it looks more like I'm in pain, and hold out my hand to properly greet her. She takes it without hesitation and I'm grateful for the smile I receive in return, softer this time and she points me towards the corridor to our left. I nod my thanks, hurrying past to avoid the two men coming from an office to our right. As I walk down the small set of stairs I hear her take a deep shaky breath before answering the ringing phone. I have no trouble finding the locker room, sneaking past the gym and hiding behind a cleaning cart to avoid further human contact before having changed and calmed down a bit. Yes, I am being utterly ridiculous. Well aware. Thank you.

Standing in front of the mirror I study my new uniform, the stone grey clothes feels very different from the dark blue ones I have been wearing the past five years. Tougher, made for hard work. I look ridiculous, nervous and way too young for the letters stitched on my chest. I am nervous, painfully so, and now standing alone in an empty locker room my usual devil-may-care game face is nowhere to be seen.

_Damnit!_

Reading Lewis Young's file and incident report the night before might not have been one of my brightest ideas. Leaning against the counter I close my eyes, the smiling face of Lewis floating around at the front of my brain, dancing behind my closed eyes. A couple of years ago I wouldn't have given a fuck what people though, but this was different, taking the place of their dead friend and teammate put me in a bad position from the start.

Taking one last look in the mirror I straighten my uniform jacket and walk out the door, not really sure if I'm ready to meet my new team or not.

_Maybe running for my life would be the best option after all._

Just outside the gym I spot my new boss, he stands half leaning against the wall with a file in his hands and a somewhat troubled frown over his face. The knowledge that that's probably my file he is reading does nothing for my racing heart and I send a quick prayer that, at least, I have my game face on as I approach him.

_Deep breaths_.

"Sergeant Greg Parker? I'm Christina Torreno." I offer my hand to the fatherly looking man now in front of me and to my surprise he takes it without hesitation. His grip is firm, his smile open and warm despite the tired look in his eyes. "Christina, welcome to the SRU. How does it feel, wearing the cool pants?" I smile, appreciating his relaxed tone and friendly approach. "They are very comfortable Sir." The questions at the back of my mind can wait.

_Just, be nice._

Parker starts to walk down the corridor. I follow close behind watching his back, I'm not really ready to walk side by side with this man yet. "Are you ready to meet the team?" he turns to look at me and I'm surprised by the serious look on his face. "Usually the whole team is a part of the tryouts; we have never had anyone appointed like this before. But I imagine it's not that easy for you either, thrown in like this." I blink up at him, honestly surprised. "Is this not how it's usually done?" he shakes his head, looks surprised I wasn't aware that my admission wasn't protocol. Though I've had my suspicions. Then he smiles again, it's a discussion for later. "C'mon, time to meet the team." I walk in behind Parker, using him as a shield as long as possible and the debriefing room feels way to small as five pair of eyes turn towards us and as Parker continues towards his chair I freeze, tension lies thick in the air and the fight or flight instinct makes my hands tremble. None of the above is an option.

I slowly sit as Parker introduces me, heart slowing as I go for my third and only option, defense. I feel the calm, neutral mask slide in place just as they turn from Parker, my back straight, head held high. My hands have stopped shaking. I meet their eyes as they are introduced, connecting faces and names with the information I already know. I've done my homework. I know their names, their preferred positions. I know they are a tightknit unit and nothing I can say will make anything better, won't change anything, and honestly I'm probably better off not saying anything. But I guess my otherwise excellent survival instinct went on a temporary vacation.

"I'm sorry for your loss." And that got their attention didn't it. They turn back towards me and even though I still look calm, almost cold, I internally flinch. "I won't say that I understand, cause I don't." My voice is low, flat and detached, but honest. And that honesty is probably the only thing keeping them from jumping over the table and giving me a piece of their distressed minds.

_This was a bad idea._

_It's the truth._

_But still a bad idea._

"I've never lost anyone, until a few years ago I've never had anyone to lose." Kyle flashes by in my mind, behind him stands Cody in the pink jeans I bought him, looking splendidly offended and I have to suppress a grin. That, if anything, would be inappropriate. "Pretending to understand the feel of your loss would be nothing but disrespectful, so I won't. I won't pretend, and I won't try to take his place. I will take my own, I'm not a team player, this whole situation is new to me and honestly I have no idea what to do." I lock eyes with the dark haired man to my left; I can almost see the words dancing at the tip of his tongue, burning behind the dark eyes. But anger is something I know how to handle, especially others and I know my whole stance have changed. "But if you want to talk about it, meet me in the gym anytime, and I'll hear you out." Yes, I did just challenge the entire team to fight me. Good start kiddo, good start. At least I got a smile out of my team leader. That of course could have been my imagination. Then the silence is broken by the alarm sounding through the building.

"Team one, hot call!"

Parker stands and we all follow suit, duty calls.

_That went well…_

_Shut up! _


End file.
